Reach For You
by Courier666
Summary: John isn't doing so well after Sherlock dies. Sherlock means to correct this. (Rated M to be safe and apologies for this blunt summary, please read my author's note inside. Just be prepared for extreme angstyness. And sexy gay smut.)


(AN: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters, or the Hobbit. If I did there would be nothing but smutty Johnlock episodes. Same goes with Smaugbo and Thilbo and Arthur/Khan. As to avoid confusion I'll explain what I'm doing with this story. I took a recent favorite song of mine and incorporated the lyrics as thoughts or dialogue. So on that note I do not own the band Red nor their song Hymn for the Missing. I will try to make it clear who is saying or thinking which part of the lyrics. I strongly suggest listening to the song(the original version, not the re-mixed) while you read. This is my second fanfiction here inspired by the power of music. Hope you enjoy. Beware of extreme John emoness and apologies if he becomes oc. HUGE WARNING: Started off serious, takes a twist as the end.)

Each visit to the grave resulted in longer and longer stays. John eventually didn't have the energy to sigh anymore. Sunlight would fade to weary skies and words of grieving never made it past the lips. Over the weeks his mind, along with his body, began to wither and fade. Deep inside he knew he was an utter failure for becoming so weak, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the sorrow.

John traced his finger in the bare dirt as his eyes drifted to a distant place, beyond the horizon. For many visits Sherlock would sit beside him, neither speaking nor moving. The ghostly figure had finally decided to leave John's sight in to the wind with the hint of a smile and never came back.

_Tried to walk together but the night was growing dark. Thought you were beside me, but I reached and you were gone_.

The earth tilted enough for the sun to no longer be visible, yet John remained seated beside the tombstone. He didn't move when the first raindrop hit his cheek, mixing with the silent tears. He didn't move even when he was fully soaked, thunder rumbling all around with random lightning strikes. The wind whispered harshly and coldly against his body, yet John found utter peace as he closed his eyes and fell to sleep. Distantly he could hear an exasperated sigh but just smiled and let the darkness take him.

A deep, familiar voice sang through his thoughts: "Sometimes I hear you calling from some lost and distant shore."

The ground felt soft when John awoke. He no longer felt the wind across his face but that of a warm blanket across his body. Which happened to be bare at the moment. With a start he threw aside the blanket and sat up fumbling for the lamp. A soft light flooded the room and his eyes took a moment to see he indeed was bare. Looking around he could see he was alone, and in the corner his dripping wet clothes tossed onto a chair carelessly. With a heavy sigh he relaxed for a moment before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom to take a hot shower.

The day started off with a steaming cup of tea that sat untouched, the heat escaping through the slightly opened window. The flat was empty, John having left to go to work. His cup of tea sat in silence and finally grew as cold as its creator's heart. Ms. Hudson eventually disposed of the abandoned drink before releasing a sigh of her own in to the empty place. She left without a word and never set foot in it again.

John clutched his oversized coat around his thinning frame tightly as he walked aimlessly from work. It was mid-day but the sun offered no warmth anymore. Faces he passed by were blurs and their voices floated past his ears into the clouds above. With a startling suddenness of silence John looked up to see he had walked clear to a river. The park was mostly clear so with a shrug he sat down, digging his hands deep into his pockets. The river itself had not begun to freeze over, but the waters were just as unforgiving.

The hopeless look upon John's face was not missed by the deep blue eyes watching from a distance. Dark brown curls fluttered with the breeze against Sherlock's face, his eyes never straying. Softly he whispered, "I hear you crying softly for the way it was before. Where are you now? Are you lost?"

And with a broken voice John whispered to the waters, "Will I find you again?"

A year later Sherlock found himself countries over, gazing up a summer's midnight moon. Something was tugging him to get up and move, and that was one mystery Sherlock could never solve in the remainder of his years.

_Are you alone, are you afraid? Are you searching for me?_

The whispers in the theater died down to silence as the movie blared to life. It was the first date John had been on in three months. The last one ended with his date slamming the taxi door in his face and having him walk home in the dark. Apparently he had not been paying enough attention to her. Now he sat comfortably with the woman who sold him his tea. They shared a small smile before turning their attention to the beginning film. An hour into the movie John could feel a stare burning into the back of his head. He shifted his eyes uncomfortably but could really see no one. Turning his eyes back to the screen he suddenly found his heart in his throat as the image of Sherlock was plastered across the screen. But it wasn't Sherlock, and John wasn't dashing out of the theater into the bathroom to empty the contents of his earlier dinner. He clutched the sides of the toilet with tears threatening to fall, vaguely remembering saying "sorry" to his date.

"Why did you go?" John cried out to no one. "I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you."

Sherlock drummed his fingers against his thigh in deep thought. There was a dull ache deep within his heart that he tried to ignore with every fiber of his being. He was currently lost in his mind palace, seeing memories in great detail but not paying attention to them in the slightest. The rain beating steadily against the taxi window only made him more bored and antsy.

"Will you wait? Will you wait?" he muttered under his breath.

**Will I see you again**? Both men thought as they faced the darkness of the night.

John stumbled into his bathroom, shedding his clothes in a fit. He hadn't even bothered to close his flat's door. His phone was buzzing in frenzy as his former date tried to figure out where the hell he ran off to. But that was tossed across the room and shattered against the wall. John stared down at the small scars that ran up and down his thighs.

_You took it with you when you left. These scars are just a trace._

The blonde splashed the filling tub with frustration. Sherlock wasn't coming back and the reality of it hit him cold. Though he had already realized this at point he finally had stopped ignoring that, and of course it had to be in the middle of a date. Even in death Sherlock could still ruin his chance with any woman.

_Now it wanders lost and wounded: this heart that I misplaced_ was all John thought before he took his knife and slashed his harshly across his wrist.

His body visibly relaxed as he watched the blood flow into the running water. His mind went blank and a damaged smile crossed his lips.

Sherlock stared up at his old flat. There was a warm light from within but somehow it felt cold and empty. His hand rested on the doorknob, which he suddenly noticed, with a frown, that the door was already opened. He pushed it open with a creak to be greeted with darkness. Sherlock released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Cautiously he took a step forward towards the stairs, but a scream of pure terror shattered the ice off his legs and before he knew it he found himself crashing through his apartment's door and into the bathroom, stumbling upon a scene that would forever haunt him.

Ms. Hudson was hunched over an extremely pale, still as death John who was in turn hunched over the tub, arm lying limp in the water. He whipped out his new cellphone and called for an ambulance. Sherlock finally noticed that Ms. Hudson could see him but he couldn't tear his eyes from John. All she could do was gape in utter shock until his booming voice brought her to her senses. It was simple, get John to the hospital and not say a word that Sherlock had been there. Like a shadow in the night Sherlock retreated and was nowhere to be seen.

_Where are you now? Are you lost? Will I find you again_? Sherlock thought numbly as he tried to imagine John's state of mind at this point. For being a consultative detective, he felt like his whole mind had collapsed and now felt like a complete failure.

"Will I find you again?" Sherlock whispered harshly in the night air.

The tall man slipped easily into the hospital. His walk there had given everyone enough time to get John in a room and leave him alone. Sherlock refused to even think that John didn't make it to his own room, let alone the hospital. It was John for fucks sake! His companion, his blogger, his flat-mate, his only friend, his life-saver, the love of his life. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks as that last thought fluttered through his mind. Instead of filing that observation into his head, he found the thought clenching his heart and only causing him to speed his walk.

It wasn't hard to deduce what room John was in. The higher than normal traffic of nurses was easy to spot. Sherlock waited a good few agonizing minutes before ducking into the dark room. He scowled at the display before him. John lay in the middle of the hospital bed, eyes shut tightly, looking so small and fragile. His blonde hair had grown slightly and was matted from sweat around his forehead. Several IV's were hooked within his arm, offering mostly blood and other vital fluids. John's breath was shallow, but he was breathing on his own. Sherlock nearly stormed over to the bed but deflated and slumped down in a nearby chair at the pained look on his friend's face.

"Are you alone? Are you afraid? Are you searching for me?" Sherlock spoke softly for once. He reached forward and gently stroked the hair out of John's face.

John opened his eyes to find himself deep within a maze. A deep voice sounded from the distance but it brought so much comfort that John dazedly walked towards it, not feeling lost anymore.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Why did you go?" Sherlock asked in all sincerity. "I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you." His eyes roamed over John's thin figure and felt his heart swell with so many emotions he barely knew existed.

BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep

"Will you wait? Will you wait?" Sherlock bowed his head and clutched to John's hand for dear life. "Will I see you again?" [end song]

"Drama queen." A voice rasped out from the bed.

Sherlock snapped his head up to meet a pair of tired eyes staring at him with such intensity.

"Sherlock… where did you go?" John asked quietly. He barely had the energy to sit himself up, which Sherlock was more than happy to help with. Sherlock sat gently down on the edge of the bed and gave a much shorter version of what had happened with his death and the year that followed. John just snorted at the end.

"You should have let me been killed. Would've been better than this hell on earth."

"John, I'm so so-"

"Don't. Just don't." John tried to look mad but his face crumpled and he threw his arms around the other man, hugging him with the little strength he had left. They both cried silently while holding each other for a while. Finally John fell asleep.

A week later both found themselves back in their flat. Sherlock was not surprised in the least to find everything exactly where he left it, but he did try to calm Ms. Hudson down who had nearly lost both her friends. She finally left, face swollen and red from crying.

He turned to John who was quietly staring out the window. Sherlock approached him slowly only to have John swing around and connect a fist hard against his cheek. John looked pissed but it all went down the drain as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Sherlock's mind tried to process everything, failing as John pushed his tongue in and without hesitation Sherlock let him in. He found his arms wrapped around John's waist as he pushed him against the wall, fighting for dominance.

It was over as quickly as it begun, but it left both panting and smiling stupidly.

"I love you, Sherlock." John began as he grasped the edges of Sherlock's jacket tightly.

In return Sherlock nuzzled his nose against John's neck, arm around the smaller man's waist tightening. "I love you too, John."

Bilbo groaned as he crumpled up another piece of paper. He tossed his quill to the side and rubbed his tired eyes. A dark, tall figure rested his black haired head upon Bilbo's shoulder who only murmured a greeting.

"What's wrong, my love?" Smaug wondered as he snaked his tail around the hobbit's chest. Bilbo leaned back against Smaug's human form chest and gestured to the wadded up piece of paper.

"My bloody stories. I can never end them right."

Smaug uncrumpled and read it, a mischievous smile gracing his face. The dragon's wings folded around Bilbo's body.

"Well, you left out the most important part."

"Oh?" Bilbo wondered, feeling a warm feeling in his groin as Smaug's voice rumbled through his ear, lips dangerously close.

Smaug spun him around, crashing his heated lips against Bilbo's, which were still bruised from the last 'attack'. He let loose a whimper as Smaug raked his claws through his honey golden curls, down his back and under his trousers. Bilbo was hard before his clothes were violently ripped off. Smaug laid his hobbit on the ground, pressing his body flush against the other. He planted heated kisses down the hairless neck and lightly flicked his tongue over a hardened nipple, eliciting the most beautiful moan. Bilbo arched his hips forward, receiving a small chuckle. Smaug complied by wrapping his hand around-

"John! What are you blogging about so loudly?" a naked Sherlock strolled over to a naked John who wasn't blogging but was busy writing his own fanfiction. John ignored him and sipped his tea smugly as Sherlock read over the latest Hobbit story about the unlikely couple of a hobbit and a dragon.

It was all starting to get pretty confusing, so Sherlock replied the best way he could.

"Boring."


End file.
